


Cartwheel Off A Cliff

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M, Meddling, Mutual Pining, Pinescone Secret Santa 2017, Public Humiliation, Sweet awkward boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 13:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13077732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It has to be illegal to be this socially inept, someone should just take him the hell out-“So, uh,” Dipper’s voice cracks and he doesn’t release Wirt’s hand after the uncomfortable handshake, “I want to take you out.”Good god, a volunteer- Oh.Oh.





	Cartwheel Off A Cliff

**Author's Note:**

> For Piper (astronycto on tumblr)! Happy holidays! <3

According to Greg, Wirt is a habitual procrastinator. If Wirt had argued when that inaccurate assessment of his character was announced- Which he didn’t, because he’s recently been trying to let small things slide. He’s been practicing this so that when something big happens, his reaction can be taken at least somewhat seriously. Unfortunately, in this attempt of escaping his dramatic label, his pushover one has been rewritten in bolded lettering.

But, if he  _ had _ argued, he would have pointed out that he has not procrastinated once in his entire lifetime, ever. Does Wirt sometimes spend more time planning and fleshing out a project than he does actually doing said project? Yes. Always, in fact. 

This is because meticulously perfecting every little detail of an assignment, or a task, or- or a  _ proposal _ , if you will, is by absolutely no means on the same level as procrastinating. It’s on the opposite end of the scale, really; A commendable pastime rather than a pathetic one.

It’s this exact line of logic that has led Wirt to devoting over six months of his life devising the right way to ask Dipper Pines to go on a date with him. 

The door to his room abruptly starts to open, sending Wirt into an unproductive spiral of full blown panic. 

He  _ should _ be trying to make a lightspeed decision of whether or not to attempt to hide the countless papers covered in humiliating plans of romantic seduction that surround him on his bed. Or grab his wand, in case of the rare event of him remembering a useful spell. Jump out the window, maybe. Instead, he hyperventilates and sits paralyzed atop of his comforter. 

“Woof,” Sarah expresses upon her rebellious and  _ uninvited _ entry into his dorm, “Getting an early start on your homework? That’s not like you.”

Wirt suavely wheezes in response.

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve given me the speech before,” She rolls her eyes, plopping down on the bed across from him and sending parchment flying, “ _ No girls in the boys dormitories, it’s against the school rules, blah blah, I don’t want people to  _ think _ things. _ I hate to be the one to break this to you dude, but in order for people to assume that we’re hooking up, they’d have to believe that you’re straight. No one’s thought that since we were eleven.”

Wirt’s temples grow damp as Sarah’s gaze lands on one of the now crumpled papers by her crossed legs, “I could love a woman.”

She thankfully looks up at that, eyebrows waggling, “But could you love her  _ right _ ?”

He swallows, fidgeting with the quill between his fingers, “Was… Was that innuendo?”

“You’re starting to catch on,” She grins, leaning in Wirt’s direction to deliver what he guesses to be a pat on his knee or some sort of friendly gesture to that effect. 

He guesses wrong, of course, because Lady Luck has never sided with him once and he should  _ really _ have learned that lesson by now-

Sarah stealthily snatches up one of the papers closest to him and darts over to the far side of his room, eyes scanning the page with a fierce quickness.

With his face ablaze, Wirt emits a short cry of outrage, jumping to his feet and chasing her down with long strides that are the one positive thing his gangly legs are dependable for. He tears the paper out of her villainous clutches, manners be damned, and aims an affronted look her way.

“Are they on the quidditch team?” She questions, her words stumbling over each other in their rush to get out before Wirt can admonish the unspeakably rude behavior.

“What?” He blurts, voice reaching an embarrassingly high pitch that he will never admit to being capable of.

“Quidditch,” She repeats, expression so suddenly somber that Wirt can’t help but momentarily forget his anger, “Do they play?”

He blinks, rapidly, “ Um. They- No-”

Sarah screams, the joyous tone of the shout not doing a thing to help Wirt feel less horrified. On the contrary, dread and terror are seeping into his bones  _ quite _ spectacularly.

“What? What?  _ What _ ? What are- Are you-?!”

She grabs both of his shoulders with her talon-like fingers and squeezes, hard enough that Wirt both shuts up and winces. A second cry of delight is released directly into his face.

“ _Pines_?” She squeals, pointedly shaking the paper in Wirt’s grip while simultaneously draining all color from his face, “I’ve been the Hufflepuff mascot for _years_ ; I know all of the players on every team by name- Mabel _Pines_ is a Gryffindor chaser, and she has a _brother_! ‘I could love a woman’ my _ass_ \- Oh my _god_ , is this what you’ve been obsessing over _forever_? I can’t believe _you_ have a _real_ _crush-_!”

He claps a trembling, probably sweaty hand over her mouth, uncaring of the potential grossness in that moment, “Sorry, but can you speak up a little please? There might be a few people in Hogsmeade who missed that.” 

Practically vibrating with elation, Sarah peels the hand off of her mouth to beam at him.

“Sorry,” She whispers, looking everything but, “You should tell him.”

Wirt scoffs, hands awkwardly fumbling in midair before landing in the intended gesture to the parchment littering his bedspread and the floor around the area, “Yes, well, what do you think I’m doing?”

The smile drops from her face, replaced with a look of something resembling pinched pity, “Oh no. You’re doing… that thing you do.”

“Uh,” He takes an unsure step away from her, scrabbling for a response, “Wh- What thing? I don’t have a thing.”

“You do. This thing,” Sarah frowns, crossing her arms and then chewing her lip, “… I’ll have to take action. You understand.”

He shakes his head, desperately, mouth going dry, “No, I don’t. I really, really-”

Her horribly stubborn mind made up, she snatches the paper  _ yet again _ and sprints out of the room, ignoring the several squawks of protest that follow her out the door.

Wirt doesn’t go after her, simply out of fear of what gossip could come from someone seeing him chasing down a girl running out of his dorm. Sarah, the cunning hellion, probably knows this.

With a final, unsatisfying noise of annoyance/agony, he throws himself on both his mattress and the incriminating parchment, bemoaning every choice he’s made that’s led him up to this point. In doing so, his dramatic label returns in an even louder font than before. 

Sarah expertly avoids him for almost two weeks. Not an easy feat, considering how many class periods they share. 

He would like to report that the issue has completely slipped from his mind and that he’s occupied himself with schoolwork and the like. He would  _ love _ to.

As it is, with each day that passes by without incident, Wirt’s anxiety over the matter unhelpfully and unhealthily multiplies. He’s little more than a low-functioning skin sack overflowing with crippling angst at this point.

Today is hopefully going to pour out at least a portion of the potent unease filling his- him- He’s lost the metaphor, but he has not lost the cautious optimism brought on by the Quidditch match starting in mere minutes. 

He is not a sports man himself, true. It is also true that he’s not at all excited by the prospect of idly standing around, watching balls flying through the air and being chased around in a repetitive, violent game that can last for  _ hours _ .

No, he’s more so looking forward to ogling the Gryffindor team’s unofficial head cheerleader. His binoculars dangle cheerfully from his neck in preparation as he climbs the stairs to claim his usual spot in the towering Hufflepuff bleachers. 

This has been going on since, well, since the first match Mabel Pines played in Wirt’s fifth year. He had been dragged to the game by an overenthusiastic Greg, who couldn’t contain his delight over watching his first school quidditch match with his first sibling in his first year- It was as insufferable and adorable as it sounded. 

Accompanying the Gryffindor’s team new chaser was a twin brother so supportive it surpassed extra and so sweet it made Wirt’s chest ache. Watching the cute brunet in the tower across from him scream and flail and jump had been… endearing. And Wirt had envied his confidence. That was all it had been. For  _ months _ .

It escalated, obviously, because Wirt’s hobbies include reading flowery poetry and overthinking all of his relationships with people, no matter the status; Friend, family, classmate, stranger that he’s been staring at for a wildly inappropriate duration of time, professor. 

After his admittedly nonsensical crush on the boy fully developed, Wirt began his action plan. Began planning his action plan, he means. Of course. 

But he has done some rather daring things aside from formulating a few risque, hypothetical situations for the wooing process. He- He had inconspicuously asked around until he got the guy’s name and- and- and continued to regularly make eyes through binoculars at  _ Dipper _ . Whom he has never actually seen up close.

“Progress _ ,”  _ He weakly lies to himself under his breath as he finds a good place to sit.

His hands wrap around the binoculars and hold them over his eyes, guiding the object in different directions to assist him in his hunt for the place where Dipper can typically be found. The spot is almost immediately discovered (what with his unsavory amount of practice), but there doesn’t appear to be an exuberant ball of eye candy anywhere near the area. 

Wirt lowers his binoculars in confusion. The puzzlement he feels quickly shifts into crushing disappointment as potential scenarios for Dipper’s absence flood his head; Each speculative train of thought growing more devastating than the last. 

Mourning the loss of his possibly busy/sick/lost/evil/murdered soul mate, Wirt’s circumspect optimism slumps along with his posture. This month is shaping up to be one of unadulterated suck.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Wirt drones, feeling miserable and doubtlessly looking even worse as his head turns in the direction of the person who’s sat beside him.

Shock shoves despair out of the spotlight with inhumane force as Wirt locks eyes with- with- with-

“Dipper,”  _ Dipper _ sticks an unsure hand out at Wirt, face pink, “We, uh… I sit behind you? In History Of Magic.”

Wirt stares. This is news to him. But it would be, bearing in mind that it’s Wirts first class of the day and he tends to sleep through it rather soundly. 

What a fucking mistake that was; For both his love life and his grades. Kill him.

Self hatred striking him like a brick to the skull, he nods, “Yeah. Yes. Be- Behind me. I know.”

He didn’t. He  _ super _ did not, in fact, but he would bet every single Knut in his vault that Sarah super  _ did _ . They will be having words. Whenever he’s able to hunt her down, that is.

“Yeah,” Dipper is smiling, an image that Wirt should be very used to, but the uncertainty in his expression is very different from what he’s used to being audience to, “So… your name…?”

Wirt almost dives off of the bleachers when he remembers the hand that Dipper’s been holding out for a while now is meant to be shaken, “Sorry. I- Wirt. Me. I’m Wirt.” 

Bury him in the dirt. He still hasn’t grabbed the guy’s hand, for the love of  _ everything- _

“Wirt,” Dipper repeats, taking the initiative to grab Wirt’s horribly limp hand and pump their joined hands up and down a few awkward times, “Nice to meet you.”

His skin is soft,  _ so _ soft, dear  _ lord _ , “Same.”

It has to be illegal to be this socially inept, someone should just take him the hell out-

“So, uh,” Dipper’s voice cracks and he doesn’t release Wirt’s hand after the uncomfortable handshake, “I want to take you out.”

Good god, a volunteer- Oh.  _ Oh _ .

“Oh,” Wirt is nothing if not an eloquent man.

“I know,” Dipper is no longer pink, but a vibrant red as his words per minute rate charges into warp speed, “This seems kind of out of nowhere doesn’t it? W- Well, it’s not. Sort of. Sure, uh, we’ve never talked before. So, this is definitely weird. I get that, but not really, because I’ve been trying to figure out how to do this since the start of the semester. I actually wrote a script for this, but my sister found it and- and it is now destroyed. Which is probably for the best, but whatever thick layer of cheese was on that paper has to be better than this. This is a mess. I am a mess. And I’m going to go. Sorry about… Me.”

Dipper’s hand slides out of his own as he stands from the bleachers and turns to leave with a quickness that has Wirt scrambling. He has to think  _ fast _ and that is by no means a strong suit of his.

“Kay,” Is the first thing to loudly and  _ stupidly _ slip from his mouth.

Dipper shuffles his feet, turning his neck to look back with distress clearly written on his face, “What?”

Wirt, appearing equally woeful, doesn’t know, “Earlier. I- I was trying to say okay. Oh. Kay. To taking me out. Okay. Okay?”

A broad grin that Wirt is much more accustomed to seeing slowly stretches Dipper’s mouth, “Okay.”

Wirt might’ve smiled back, he’s not positive. And he really doesn’t think to check, once the quite demanding distraction of the entirety of the Gryffindor Quidditch tower rhythmically stomping and clapping starts up.

“ _ Okay! _ ” An amplified, horribly familiar voice joins the stomping. 

Whatever mood the two had been close to finding immediately darts back into expert hiding.

A honey badger on a broomstick confirms Wirt’s fears, showboating around the Gryffindor bleachers before zooming to the middle of the Quidditch field.

Wirt turns to Dipper, not too far away from bursting into tears, “I sincerely apologize for whatever is about to happen.”

Dipper’s eyebrows raise, “Wha- Oh my god.”

A second broomstick is in the air, this one not holding up an intrusive girl in a fursuit, but a brunette in a Gryffindor Quidditch uniform. 

“Same to you,” Dipper meekly continues.

They brace themselves, the both of them fighting the urge to interchangeably dive or enthusiastically flip off of the tower.

The stomping and clapping continue, joined with a horrible vocal parody of Queen’s  _ We Will Rock You _ , the traditional words replaced with a foreboding,  _ You Should Go Out.  _ Sarah and who Wirt assumes to be Dipper’s twin sister Mabel begin to fly through the air again, puffs of thick white smoke trailing behind their brooms in true Elphaba fashion.

Dipper and Wirt emit noises of intense emotional suffering in unison.

In no time at all the chanting in the Gryffindor bleachers reaches a crescendo and ends. As this happens, the writing in the air can be very clearly read as ‘ _ Dipper and Wirt Should Totally Date _ ’. With over five exclamation points. Fireworks go off. Wirt cries.

Sarah and Mabel begin to head in their direction at a frightening speed. Running would be futile.

“Wirt!” Sarah giddily screeches before the pair of girls come to a stopping point directly in front of him, “Ask him!” 

The crowd whoops their support as the furry lightly touches Wirt’s throat with the tip of her wand. Wirt coughs, the sound echoing nerve-wrackingly as everyone quiets. The silence huffs down his neck, expectation on its breath.

He swallows, glancing over at Dipper’s shocked/horrified/pretty face before croaking, “He already asked me.”

Dipper clears his throat, and Mabel’s wand is pressed against his neck.

“He said yes,” Dipper mumbles, running a nervous hand through his mass of fluff parading as hair.

“Yeah,” Wirt lamely confirms.

The pathetic smattering of applause the finale of the overly dramatic display earns is almost as humiliating as the display itself. Almost. 

Mabel and Sarah flee before revenge can strike. And make no mistake, Wirt is planning on a hefty amount of revenge and it is guaranteed to be cruel. Whenever he gets around to exacting it, of course.

The game announcer thankfully takes pity on them and changes the subject by beginning to introduce the players. Everyone moves on in an attempt to smother the cringe they all feel, but this specific brand of mortification is comparable only to a particularly out of control internal forest fire.

Wirt knows this, because he himself is currently trying to let the flames consume him.

“… Hogsmeade trip this weekend,” Dipper mentions, his voice trembling with chagrin.

“Yes,” He responds, voice quaking similarly.

“We could meet at The Three Broomsticks?” Dipper smiles, wryly, “If you still want-”

“I want. I do. Uh. Yes,” Wirt hatefully rubs at his face, “Sounds good.”

“Good,” Dipper nods, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder, “So, I’m gonna head back to my dorm and… maybe cast a memory charm on myself.”

“Understandable,” Wirt’s lips twitch, “See you this weekend- Or, w- well, in History Of Magic tomorrow, I guess.”

“Looking forward to it,” Dipper grins.

And it is inarguably awkward, but it also  _ sweet _ , so Wirt has to fake no sincerity whatsoever when he replies, “Me too.”


End file.
